The measure of a Human
by AlsoSprachOdin
Summary: Three dead little bloodsuckers. An outbreak that's "under control". Cyborg. A cup of coffee. Cheshire. A town that's just not big enough to hide in. And four dead little bloodsuckers...
1. Chapter 1

Cyborg does not get enough love, so I wrote this up. And I fully intend to finish this story.

Did you know? You don't actually have to put disclaimers in your story, at all.

**just another mission**

The mere presence of a known superhero can have a profound impact on a situation all by itself. 'Situation' usually spelled _shituation_. As a general rule, amateur perps have little to no cool when they know they've done something naughty, and they do stupid things simply because they know the police is after them. Involve someone like Green Lantern and even career criminals – _especially_ experienced career criminals – start considering their peaceful surrender to the law.

Cyborg couldn't claim to the same status as a core member of the League, but six-foot scary black guys in polished neotitanium and shiny circuit-displays did garner attention. The message got through even better when people started recognizing him as the one cyborg enough of a VIP to actually be known as 'Cyborg'. Add to this the small-town factor and all Cyborg had to do now was sit down somewhere visible and wait. He chose a charming little café in the center of the town, a table outside where his remaining face could catch the breeze and his tin-body could be warmed by the rays of the midday sun. He didn't sit down at any of the small tables: the chairs wouldn't support his weight.

The place was Weskerssville, a medium-small town halfway across the Californian countryside from Jump City. And while Cyborg wouldn't have been here if 'trouble' hadn't brought him, there wasn't much else to do for the superhero. Investigating clues was the locals' job; the good officers who had been so kind to remind him of this repeatedly. He was just muscle, there to be called upon if needed. He wasn't even the primary muscle: they had everything under control.

And so, he contented himself to attract attention.

While doing this, Cyborg busied himself with a digitalization of Greg Iles' _Turning Angel_ that projected in his artificial eye. A waitress brought him his ordered coffee and informed him that his large ham and three dishes of fries would be ready soon, coming in from his left side where he couldn't see her face behind the image of page 258. He took a cautious sip of the hot substance as he ignored the stares and whispers from the other tables.

If he wanted to, he could hear exactly what people where saying in a radius of over a hundred meters, but he'd heard it all before. Maybe there'd be a teenage fan or two around, maybe some metaphobes. Mostly, nowadays, people reacted with varying degrees of fascination and caution.

Cyborg idly wondered if they noticed the way he held his cup; applying no pressure or relying on friction, but almost cupping it in three fast-locked fingers? What part of his almost Two-Face-like countenance did they focus on: the smooth, inflexible dead armor and red sensor-orb on the left side, or the brown on his right?

Not that he cared much anymore. He had grown more than content with being half-machine; for what he had lost, it gave him so much in exchange; benefits that certain other types would kill for, and oftentimes, did. And anyone claiming him to be "inferior" in some way was going to get laughed at raucously if he wasn't a Kryptonian.

He engrossed himself in the slow unveiling of the murder-mystery as he scrolled down the pages only he could see, and wished that all murders could be solved with a thought being processed through one's hybrid-brain. He himself had five bodies in a morgue, all with tri-claw cuts through most of their chest cavities, rather pronounced canines in their mouths and little to no blood inside, which was notable because there hadn't been much blood on the crime scenes either.

Naturally, the local authorities had done the prudent thing upon discovering a bloodsucker infection and called for the specialists… instead of the Justice League. Or the Titans.

That's what happens when mundanes take up stakes and silver bullets and makes a living from high-risk pest control; the undead threat suddenly doesn't seem so serious if average sociopathic war-junkie ex-special forces "normal guys" can deal with it.

Cheshire, who did fall under the the syndicated crimefighters' jurisdiction due to her being a metahuman, was anywhere but in this town if one were to judge from her patterns so far. Cyborg was really just there to make things official: In case things didn't work out, the superhero-community had their backs covered and could say they had not been ignoring the incidents in Weskersville. The dead undead had all been less than one year past their infection, possible less than a week, so the exterminators should be more than enough.

Cyborg "turned" page 281 and ordered his third coffee while the waitress took his proffered XL-plate, now empty from the mountain of a lunch he had ordered. He looked around with his human eye and noted how deserted the place suddenly seemed. Okay, it wasn't fair to the proprietor to scare all the costumers away, so he downed his coffee in one gulp when it was brought to him (it didn't burn him) and left a good tip for not staring too obviously.

He took good time walking through the biggest streets of the inner city where everyone could see him, especially admiring the green summer-shroud covering Elm Street in its full length. Jump City wasn't as bad as certain other cities, but it was still mostly concrete everywhere, largely limiting nature to the few parks, and Titans Island was mostly shrubs and hedge plants where it wasn't a bare rock.

He continued this until night fell; walking, taking in the few sights, window-shopping, occasionally stopping by if he found another café, a very sturdy bench, or the library to scan a few more comics and novellas (you can never have too much data when Moore's Law keeps expanding your memory). He reported in to Robin once, played some online video games with BB (thanks to having installed the Gamestation operations system and most of their games into himself). He mailed three more moves in their week-old game of chess to Raven over the course of the day, saving his knight but still not figuring out how Raven could compete with him without a program that could figure out all the possible next four moves. He talked with Star about culture on Earth and Tamaran, music and interstellar politics (in five different languages to keep up their multilingual skills), and reminded her to change the bandages around her leg from their last altercation with a deathray. And over the course of the day he signed 42 autographs.

When the stars started peering through the receding daylight, Cyborg had finished _Turning Angel_ and was perusing his considerable library for another distraction, ambling through the main street for the sixth time. The teenager stopped in the middle of the town square before a simple statue of Kiloton Man (the only successful crimefighter to come out of this town for the last 30 years), turned, rested in the chassis of his exoskeleton and observed the sunset.

Life was easy when you had a platinum card built into your hand, your body couldn't get tired or ache and entertainment ready within your own cyber-brain at all times.

The town square grew darker as the minutes passed by, the sun sank below the horizon and the moon grew brighter and brighter in contrast to the night sky. And Cyborg stood absolutely still in the middle of it with his hands hanging at his sides, completely submerged in his own consciousness and relying on automated systems to detect incomings. _Here I am. If anybody needs me, I'll be standing right here all night. I don't need a bed to sleep, I don't even need to lie down. And why would I need to sleep in the first place?_

Everyone stayed indoors tonight, except for one superpowered 18-year-old and several of the more daring vampire hunters in town. No one else was going out tonight, and no one was driving through Weskerssville when they could take a 10-mile detour. Even bloodsuckers were probably staying inside for the night too, if they weren't complete retards.

Luckily, as history has proven so many times, it's hard to underestimate humans' stupidity, no matter how much or how little they're actually human. A factor as reliable as gravity.

The first thing Cyborg did when he spotted the man slowly going towards him, like he was unsure, was give him a full security scan. Exactly fifty-seven different instruments were involved in this process, giving the half-robot detailed information about the texture and material of his clothes, the content of his pockets, a sharp 3-dimensional picture of his skeletal frame, and more. He didn't need all of this, however. It was enough when he realized he hadn't heard that man coming down the street; not his footsteps, his breath, or his heartbeat.

The day that had looked to be so nice and peaceful was over thanks to Cyborg's own efforts. He swore under his breath and resigned himself.

"What's up, man? You don't look too good," he called at the bloodsucker, who stiffened in turn. It was a lanky guy perhaps only five years older than Victor Stone, with messy, brown hair, dressed casually in jeans and a clean shirt over a very bloodstained singlet underneath (his own blood, if the still fresh marks on his jugular artery were any indication), and he was barefooted. It couldn't have been very long since he was turned, and he was probably confused, in a sensory overload from his newly enhanced senses, and thirsty.

The fledgling centered himself. "I think I need to talk to you."

"No problem. I'm here to help," Cyborg assured the walking dead man, trying to convey harmlessness with his body language without being too obvious, showing the vamp his open and empty hands (capable of crushing the other one's head with minimal effort). The vamp didn't seem to know where to start, though, so he tried prodding him, very carefully... "Did somebody jump ya? You look a little shook up?."

The stranger blinked. "Oh shit." His eyes took on an alarmed look. "Uhh, no. I don't know anything about that."

A pause, as he considered his sky-screaming lie and Cyborg tried not to look anything but harmless instead of rolling his eyes.. "Oh shit." He impulsively touched his neck gingerly where Cyborg could see the two little marks. He was going to bolt for it in five if Cyborg didn't do something.

"Look, take it easy, take a couple deep breaths." It wouldn't really do anything for the living dead dude in a physiological way, but maybe the placebo effect would calm him down. "You're safe now. I'm Cyborg, a Teen Titan. I'm here to serve and protect and all that. So take it easy."

"Okay, okay, I'm breathing, I'm breathing... I'm calm, I'm cool."

"Good, do you have a name?"

"Lee, I... I live here – of course I live here – I saw the vampires! It was in – no wait." He seemed to gather his scattered wits. "Mr. Cyborg. It's not the vampires, it's somebody else."

Being Mister'ered by someone older than himself was not a completely unusual occurrence for the super-sized teen, but it still felt strange. "I know. Kimono, extremely long, black hair, big, shiny claws, Cheshire-mask: Cheshire. She's the reason I'm here. Have you seen her?"

"No. No thank god no, I just wanted to say that the vampire - he's not trying to hurt anybody, I mean he didn't bite me when I told him I didn't want any part of that, but it's this freak with the claws; I think they got some kind of beef."

That sounded a little strange. 'The vampire'? Everything indicated there was more than one, but the man was confused, and there was a more important question: "What friend?"

That one put the vamp 's on alert. "I... I'm not telling you!"

"Don't worry. I'm not going to harm your or your friend, even if he is a vampire. Look, let's take this from the beginning again: You've seen some vampires, you've talked to them."

He nodded.

"And they told you about Cheshire?"

Another nod.

"That's all that's relevant to me. If she is still here, and if she's going after this friend of yours, then I need to know how to find these vamps, or Cheshire will kill them. I can stop her, but only if you help me. Bloodsuckers are out of my jurisdiction, and I don't like killing people anyway. If you help me catch a dangerous criminal, I'll get Chessie out of their hair and we'll be out of each others' hair. How does that sound?"

"Heh, figuratively," Lee quipped, alluding to Cyborg's shaved scalp. He was obviously the kind of guy who couldn't help being a smartass even if he had just been made cold. He turned serious again soon enough. "Isn't that illegal, this sort of deal, I mean?"

"What, you being a chicken because it's verboten for _me_ to collaborate with a bloodsucker?" Cyborg grinned at the confused Lee, seeing that his strategy working: subtly indicating that he knew Lee was a vampire too, turning around who was breaking the law and who was chickening out because of it, and using semi-obscure vocabulary.

"No, it's-"

"So are you gonna help me or let Chessie with the claws put some holes in your friend? We might not have all night, you know."

"Look, stop!" Lee gestured wildly. " Í need to tell you something first. I need to tell you tell you what exactly happened"

That would be pretty good too. "Well, go ahead. I'm listening."

"Okay, listen, Os' got by my house last Tuesday, and he told me he had become a vampire. I didn't believe him, but then he showed me his teeth and the things he could do and I was just floored, it was unreal. And he asked me if I wanted to be one too, because he wanted to make me one if I wanted, but I said no and it was cool."

Lee's point was clear enough. "Okay, so your friend isn't a bad guy. I heard it the first time, I'm glad to hear, and I'll be sure to report to the authorities, but it doesn't really change anything. What happened then?"

"Well, nothing. He went home, or, I think he went by some others of our friends and asked them too." Well, that explained the outbreak. The road to vampire apocalypse was apparently paved with good intentions... "But then, umm, two day's ago..."

"Friday," Cyborg informed him while he started transmitting everything he had recorded of their conversation so far back to the tower in Jump, at the same searching the police database for any missing locals whose names could be shortened to 'Os'.

"Yeah, Friday, at night, he and Jessica – um, his girlfriend – they came back and told me that Dave and Edd and Irene had been – been... fuck... god... Fuck! They're dead..." He walked past Cyborg to collapse at the foot of Kiloton's likeness. "Cheshire or whatever killed them... and now she's coming after them... and me."

More names to look up, to re-categorize from 'missing' to 'NNH': Non-human, Non-citizen Hazard until they could be confirmed exterminated. He focused back on Lee, whose breath had shortened and he was scratching his hair. If he could, it looked like he was going to cry, but his tear ducts were still mutating. In a week he'd be able to shed blood from his eyes, but right now his loss had thrown him into fits of the lachrymal equivalent of dry heaving. "When did that happen?"

"I don't know. Tonight."

Cyborg blinked. "Wait, those two came over to you, tonight? Or did your friends-"

"Tonight," Lee interrupted him, aggressively. Cyborg thought he saw a little red gleam in his eyes and played back the auto-rec. Sure enough; little red light; he probably had better night-vision than Cyborg.

Things had developed faster than he'd thought, which meant he had even less time now. "What's their full names, where do they live, where did it happen and where are they now?"

Cyborg had to repeat his questions again but only got the most necessary of info, such as phone numbers and a basic description, besides names and addresses. Oswald Jansen, as Cyborg had found out Lee's friend was named, hadn't given Lee the full report of the situation. When his short interrogation was over and done, he had cleared out exactly how dead a wider circle of Lee's friends were.

"Os' said he was going to give her payback for killing the others, and Jess' asked if I wanted to help them and then she threw a fit when I didn't want to be one of them," Lee continued when the superhero asked about the night's meeting. "Os' was cool, he didn't want to involve me anyway, I think it was Jessica's idea." He had been pacing for a while now, obviously feeling awkward just standing around in the middle of the town square, talking to a metallic superhero. Sometimes Cyborg just forgot that not everybody could just stand completely still without ever getting tired.

"Was that all? They just left after that?" He asked.

"Yeah, I don't know anything else-"

"It doesn't look like it's all,"

Vamp boy stiffened.

Cyborg pointed to his neck. "I can see the bite marks, man. Was it this Jessica girl?"

The somewhat older young man took a few, slow steps backwards.

"You don't have to be afraid of _me_. As I said, I'm not interested in you. They don't pay me to bother with vampires."

Lee took on a unsettled look of disbelief. "You're kidding me."

"No joke. They really don't think they need us crimefighters for you guys."

"Huh. I guess it's true. There's like a hundred of those hunters out here." 83, to be exact. Robin had done the research from the Tower. "I can smell them, you know. How freaky is that? They're all here to kill me. Fuck me. I'm so dead."

He was essentially right, and Cyborg found it hard not to sympathize with the poor man. "No you're not. You just went through a spider's web of trained professionals and nobody noticed you. I'm sorry your friends died, but you can't let that kill you now. You still have your whole life ahead of you."

Lee wasn't agreeing. He could tell from the way he was scowling and barring his new, Colgate-white fangs when he opened his mouth to protest, so Cyborg kept talking: "Okay, so maybe your life _is_ ruined now, and you'll never get it back. Things are gonna change." Specifically, he was gonna be hunted like an animal, have to say goodbye to his former life and everything he'd worked for until now, including family and friends. And of course he would have to live in a basement for most of the day, stay away from silverware and never eat food anymore. At least he'd still have his skin. "Well, life threw you a big, fat lemon. What are you gonna do with it? Choke on it and die? Do you _want _to die?"

"Of course not, you..!" He trailed off, not about to say something dumb. Cyborg took no offense.

"Life goes on. And now you really have just about all the time in the world to get your life back on track. Why do you think your friend decided to become a vamp in the first place?"

"Okay, you have all the good ideas. What am I going to do now?"

"Listen good. You still have a few good hours before the sun gets up again, so if there's anybody at all you want to say goodbye to, now is the time. After that: getaway. Don't worry about where you go, as long as it's not via any roads from here." Lee was listening attentively as. "When the horizon starts to get really bright and your skin starts tingling, dig a big hole and bury yourself. That's it, the rest you will have to figure out for yourself. The good new is that you have all the time in the world, so don't rush anything. Except getting out of here. Go go GO!"

Lee started to turn around at Cyborg's sudden outburst, but stopped before he took off running. "Um, I... Thank you, man. Thanks a lot." _Adjusting internal brachial setup. _

"Don't mention it." _Preparing charge-up. Complete brachial adjustment ready._

"Catch Cheshire soon. Goodbye." _Charging. Brachial adjustment complete._

And then he was off, with all the speed of a fledgling vampire. _Target locked. 17,7m dist – 13,x m/s – koo(x32,677 y2,51) - _

Lee's chest liquefied within a tenth of a second and sprayed itself out of him behind him and in front of him. He was dead from the chock before he knew it.

Cyborg looked at the vague hour-glass outline of bloody mess that had been Lee's heart, among other things, still somewhat electrified from the electron-projection he laced his sonic weaponry with. At least Lee had died with hope. That was the least Cyborg could do for him.

On the roof of a white painted mid-rise upwind, a figure was packing his equipment down, seeing that he wasn't going to fire expensive silver rounds for now. As long as he, or his buddies, got the body, they'd be fine with letting the superhero take the kill.

That was how Cyborg still thought of it, no matter how many living dead he dispatched: It was necessary, but it _was _killing. He didn't know if he wanted to keep feeling bad about this, or if callousness wasn't to be preferred when it was his legal duty to exterminate any NNH's he encountered. If the hunters had been the spider-web Lee thought he had so easily traversed without getting caught, Cyborg was the spider waiting in the middle for the meal to serve itself on a platter.

Two headlights flared up at the end of the plaza like the eyes of a vengeful ghost, coming closer until they slowed down next to Cyborg: a big, white car with the same transparent-blue panels as its owner, and the door already open to the driver's seat. He was sitting himself in before the car came to a stop and was off again.

"This is T.T. Cyborg, authorized crimefighter register-number 106-5-2," Cyborg told his direct line to the joint-force's center of operations, consisting of the local police, town administration and hunter-bosses. He tersely recited his report of the meeting with Lee.

When he was done, he pushed a button on the wide selection in his baby's interface, and a siren started blaring with red and blue light alternating over the car's circuit panels. A female voice informed him that squads of police officers and hunters were being sent to all the residences of the previously unreported vampires, Lee's two late friends, Dave Farmer and Irene Watson. Eddie Soring had already been reported as a vamp by his own girlfriend.

The empty streets made the trip to Lee's apartment a breeze, and with not having to bother with red lights or most traffic laws, Cyborg made it to the tenement complex in 3 minutes and 29,2 seconds. If Cheshire was involved with vampires, then this investigation _was _within his jurisdiction, and his S.C.A.N.N.E.R.S system could outperform a full team of investigative technicians, and do it in seconds. And if any metaphobic officers had a problem, then they'd have to deal with it through the system, since they couldn't well stop him with their own feeble manpower, and the system would be in Cyborg's favor.

This time, Cheshire would _not_ get away.


	2. Chapter 2

Not much happening in this chapter, but exposition is a necessity. I took some artistic freedoms with Cyborg's applications. I'll list them after the story.

Keeping Cyborg in character is one of my major worries. While he would normally be a lot louder and more laid-back, I have also put him in a much more serious situation than usual, namely having him kill an essentially innocent guy for the greater good only a chapter and some hours ago. I am going to try to make him more in his usual character in the next chapter, when he has put some distance to the murder.

I do believe the legal minimum age for smoking is 18 in California, but let me know if I'm wrong.

Anyway, feel totally free to point out what I could do better. Not only will it probably make me a better writer, but you in turn will probably get better chapters.

**The Thrilling Hunt**

It was a dead end. Not in the sense of some dark alleyway and dark figures with hats and dark glasses in your heels, but Lee's apartment held no clues of interest. Sure, DNA traces of some vampires that would with all certainty turn out to have been left by Oswald and Jessica. And there was a laptop filled with all the usual essentials of a young man. Also of little-to-no interest; a sizable pile of dirty dishes that didn't even get close to the one in the Tower, and a single bed. Not much else. No posters, no real furniture, no television, no nothing. Just a superhero, some cops and vampire hunters with nothing around to shoot at.

"Humble surroundings..." Cyborg remarked.

"Brilliant observation, Dr. Watson. Anything else you'd like to share?" detective Allen inquired and pulled in a lungful of nicotine. He was a short man, putting him face to titanium-chest with the hero, and it had to irk him something bad to have to crane his neck to look Cyborg in the face. Hence why he didn't and chose to focus on the smoke drifting out of his nostrils, past his gray mustache, round glasses and thin hair.

"Vampires were here and left again. Didn't leave a trail of breadcrumbs, if that's what you were hoping for, but yeah, I have something." A minidisc whirred out of his left underarm. He held it out for the detective, who quirked an eyebrow. "It's a cut-out of my automatic log. It's the interview with Lee Neptinac; sound and video in five different formats."

Allen crossed his arms and beheld the disc the same way he might behold a dangerous criminal. "Where do you put that?"

What did he mean? Cyborg frowned. "In a disc driver."

"I think ours are a different size..."

A bout of silence ensued, filled only with an intense stare-off between tired defeat at the hands of the never-ending stream of modern gadgets and another, more enraged heterochromatic stare of disbelief: 'Ours are a different size,' Cyborg repeated to himself mentally, double-checking if those words had really come out of the detective's mouth. How could you not have upgraded to minidisc format by now? Not only the investigation and the lives of an entire town, but the very technological progress was hampered!

The disc went right back into Cyborg's arm again. "Fine, I'll play it myself," the teenager said bitterly.

Lee's words and voice filtered through small loudspeakers emerging from his robotic shoulders: "Friday, at night, he and Jessica – um, his girlfriend – they came back and told me that Dave and Edd and Irene had been – been... _beeeb_... god... _beeeb_! They're dead... ... Cheshire or whatever killed them... and now she's coming after them... and me." Cyborg fast-forwarded to the next interesting part: "Os' said he was going to give her payback for killing the others, and Jess' asked if I wanted to help them and then she threw a fit when I didn't want to be one of them..." He stopped the recording there.

"And then she bit him," Cyborg added.

A younger, bulkier officer in uniform added his two cents: "So this super-duper hit man is after vampires. And these vampires are biting innocent citizens to force them to fight this freak or die when she comes after them?"

"Something like that, but I think Lee had another impression about Cheshire." Cyborg put the audio on again.

Lee's stammered on from the grave: "-I just wanted to say that the vampire - he's not trying to hurt anybody, I mean he didn't bite me when I told him I didn't want any part of that, but it's this freak with the claws; I think they got some kind of beef."

Allen sucked the smoldering heat in his cigarette into the very edge of his thin lips. "She's just after this one, and he would be..." He was looking at Cyborg.

"Oswald Jansen, reported missing three days ago. Obviously, he's been a bloodsucker for a much longer time."

One of the hunters, a short-cropped man in military style fatigues, shot a remark to one of his colleagues. "So if we just get this vamp and hand him over, then we can get rid of the wonderland-kitty?"

"How do we find a single vampire in this mess?"

"Good point."

Cyborg summed up: "I have nothing else. I'll be tracking down a supervillain if anybody needs me."

"Oh, you are? Mind telling me if you have some leads you forgot to tell the rest of us about?" Allen asked with a bit of antagonism creeping into his tone.

Innocently, Cyborg lied so bad it hurt his still-organic tongue. "Sorry, nothing. I'm just going to patrol and look under every stone in the county. Sooner or later I'll find her."

"Sure," the detective grumbled. "That's how you guys always find these guys first." The crimefighter didn't blame him; he was just doing his job, as was Cyborg.

"If I find Chessie, you'll be the first to interrogate her. How's that?"

Allen's features softened to a sort of resignation. It never did rock to have information withheld from you by someone young enough to be your son, and not being able to do anything about it because this someone essentially outranks you. But he understood that was the way it worked, and he worked with it to the best of his ability.

"It was nice talking to ya. Keep up the good work" the superhero said and turned to leave. He was blocked by a different kind of man, one that didn't have to look up at him.

"Leaving already, big guy?" the man asked, parting his lips in a calculated grin.

If detective Allen looked more in place in a classroom teaching math, then this guy should be dribbling a basket ball; he had the long frame belying the heft of muscle attached to it. The ugly scar running across his mouth, stubbles, the silver choker and the modified M16 slung over his shoulder didn't quite fit anything but a man fighting monsters, though. Five other similarly brawny, dark-clothed men filled the corridor outside Lee's apartment.

The teenager blinked. "I have places to be. Midnight sightseeing to get done, world-class assassins to put in cuffs. You have your own business to take care of."

"Of course, of course," the hunter assured very civilly. "But at least I can introduce myself and my friends. I'm Claude, and, well, my friends and I collectively go under the name Securi-Silver Company." He extended an open hand which Cyborg squeezed lightly.

"Cyborg. Teen Titans. But you probably already knew that," the hero stated guardedly.

"Actually, I'm not too keen on the news, but I think I could have guessed which one you were." Claude's face winced a bit. "Quite a handshake you've got there, but getting to the point; Your business seems to have some business with our business, and I think that makes your business our business, if you know what I'm saying. Because I have to agree with the good detective and you know, it would be a shame for everybody if someone was to get hurt because we couldn't work together, right?" Listening to the man speak felt like listening to a radio; the way the volume on his body language was turned all the way down and even the expression of tired amiability only lasted for the first few millimeters into his face.

Cyborg wouldn't trust him even if it wasn't Titans policy never to trust strangers before having conducted thorough background research on them. "Trust me when I say that the Titans never let anyone get hurt if it can be helped."

Faux-thoughtfully, Claude went on: "This little lady you're looking for... she's related. Like she's damn good at finding them."

The flesh turned as hard as the titanium and Cyborg leveled a deathly serious stare at the unfazed hunter. "Don't even think it. That stuff always goes wrong, so don't." He took a step back and addressed all of the SecuriSilver Company: "And let me repeat the chant, just in case any of you guys forgot it: If the Titans – that is, me – finds any leads related to the infection, it will be reported to the proper authorities, who will then inform you guys. No one is going to be robed out of their jobs. Also, if any of you observe or think you observe a non-NNH metahuman, dressed in a green carpet, porcelain mask, claws – that'd be Chechire – you will run like you've never run before in your life, and you won't stop running. When you're about a mile outside the city and you can't see anyone around you, you call the proper authorities. No; you can't help in any way with finding her, No; she won't answer any of your questions even if you ask nicely, and No; I won't let you ask in any other way. No, none of this is up for discussion, and lastly..." He turned face-to-face with Claude again, indicating the door out of the apartment he was blocking. "... do you mind?"

"Oh, of course not." The hunter stepped out of Cyborg's way and let him come through. "And don't worry, you have our full cooperation, Mr. Cyborg."

"Goodbye," the teenage hero simply stated as he gently treaded out in the corridor that lead to Lee's apartment. It was a half-way outdoors deal, with a row of doors on one side and a rail to the other side and a three-story drop below. Cyborg was only too aware of the strain his near-tonne of armor and compact metal-intestines put on the concrete floor.

Back in the days where he was still acclimating to his new condition, he'd made the mistake of walking a little too briskly and promptly gone straight through seven floors until he reached the basement. To say Cyborg had quickly developed an aversion to cheaply constructed tall buildings after that accident was the nice way of putting it. Just standing around in Lee's apartment had been a risky affair, and honestly, he couldn't wait to feel solid ground under his feet again. Really solid ground.

He stood still in the corridor. Then gripped the rail and leaned over it, looking upwards and taking aim before launching his free hand like a grapple at a suitably sturdy-looking projection on the flat roof, dragging a sturdy cable after itself.

"What the hell are y-!"

Cyborg swung himself over the rail and slowed his fall just enough not the crack the sidewalk without putting too much weight on his handholds, and landing with all the agility of a ninja-elephant in full plate armor. Ignoring the many dropped jaws and wide-eyed stared surely following him; Cyborg sat himself in his car which was parked a little down the road. The door shut itself after him and the windows toned over on the outside. Only the green glow from scattered buttons on the dashboard provided illumination.

There could be no working with the police or the hunters on this one. If somebody didn't botch the operation or got taken as a hostage at a critical moment, then somebody else was bound to be a little too tempted by the fortune anyone could figure a world-class assassin would have amassed. Cheshire was one of those villains smart enough not to kill people who helped them. Considering what vampire hunters would do for money, it was not a chance Cyborg felt like betting on.

And what was that Claude's angle on Cheshire? Wasn't she just a competitor to him or was he altruistic enough to suggest that Cyborg let her carry on her killing spree?

What a thing to think...

It didn't matter, he told himself. It was time to get to work. With a soft purr the T-car's engine started up, the subtly blue-glowing vehicle disappeared back towards the center of town.

* * *

03:21 AM. The highest point in town looked like it was a factory of some kind, some good forty-five meters above ground level. It wouldn't take him long to find out, but Cyborg wasn't really interested in what was manufactured inside in the daytime, but he was happy that the building was made with some solid steel and concrete. He lay in a corner overlooking the greater part of Weskersville, hiding himself as he scanned the rooftops of everything underneath him.

It was one of those first things you did when you got superpowers. Not Cyborg, for obvious reason, but even non-powered Robin and Beast Boy who could just fly were no exceptions: You jump rooftops. If you're going from one place to another, you will eventually do this. It one of the closest things you get to flying if you haven't got that particular power, it's just the right amount of dangerous (mostly). you walk around on other people's houses and can just feel like you're above _everything_.

For now, looking for jumpers was the best Cyborg could come up with while he waited. He didn't expect Cheshire to do something so amateurish, but if she had bone to pick with a vampire who was offering eternal life to all his buddies, then finding the vampires was the best way to find the supervillain.

Then again, maybe she was doing the exact same thing as he. Maybe she had done it from the start. It would explain why this usually effective strategy was producing absolutely nothing. After several hours of surveillance, he still had only seen a hobo pass out on the street. Cyborg had called for a patrol car to pick him up. Not that the homeless guy was in any danger from the vampires – just because you're undead doesn't mean you have no standards – but he could at least get to sleep in a dry and warm cell.

The superhero was contemplating dressing up as a normal really tall and beefy guy and play the part of an easy victim, when S.C.A.N.N.E.R.S alerted him to a heartbeat that was a lot closer than the constant murmur from the city around him. It was coming in from five-o-clock, at a downward 52 degree angle. 100 meters...

Cyborg remained where he was, lying as still as a paperweight. If the flier was going to try anything funny, believing that he hadn't noticed it yet would be Cyborg's advantage Only a single index finger moved, bent around to point at the newcomer. It's outermost joint detached from the rest of the finger except for two small pincers still holding on to it, turning it on diminutive wheels so the mini-camera inside the digit could observe the one coming to an almost soundless landing on the factory's roof.

He was male, 179 centimeters, a little younger than Cyborg himself. He wore a red hockey-mask and had his hands in the pockets of a dark-gray... trench coat. Cyborg sighed a bit.

The newcomer just stood there for a while with his hands in his pockets. The flying dude had probably spotted the gleam of the moon in Cyborg's polished titanium back. He really should get something to cover all the shininess with, like a cape and a cowl, Cyborg thought to himself. At last, as if he had come to a decision on how to phrase himself, he cleared his throat noisily. "Sorry to disturb you if you're sleeping, but I was wondering if I could have some words with you?"

"'Evening," Cyborg replied, got up and turned around while he put his finger back together. It was just rude not to look at people when they were talking to you, and it's stupid to keep your back to a possible enemy, though Cyborg felt pretty sure he didn't need to worry about this one: He was either a friend or arrogant enough to think that he wouldn't need the element of surprise. "I'm Cyborg. From the Teen Titans. Call me Cy. Wha's'up?" He walked over to the other guy and held out an open hand.

"I'm Argus. I work solo. I just wanted to say hi, you know, 'welcome to Nowheresville,'" Argus proclaimed and almost reached out for the handshake, but hesitated halfway there. He wore formfitting leather gloves, Cyborg noted. "Um, no offense, but are you sure-"

Cyborg grabbed his hand before Argus could finish and squeezed it 'lightly'. "So, this is your Town?"

"No, actually, I'm from a little further away, but around these parts there's not so many supervillains. Not like in Jump City. I heard the news the other day, so I thought I'd help out around here." Argus let go of the handshake and wiggled his unmolested fingers to check them. "You too?"

"Actually, I'm on another case: The one that capped those bloodsuckers."

"... Why?" An understandable question from the uninitiated.

"Because if it is who we are pretty sure it is, then it's a top-ten world ranking assassin. Not sure what she's doing here, though."

"Okay... Top ten... that's pretty hardcore... Weren't you on a team?" Cyborg nodded. "Where's the rest of them?"

"In Jump, because somebody's got to hold the fort, but no sweat. They sent their best man."

"Don't you mean 'their only man'?" Argus asked with genuine curiosity. "I mean, you are called the _Teen _Titans. Man, are you even an adult?"

The nineteen-year old sighed. "Got me there." None of the Titans could buy a beer and their second oldest – their leader – wasn't even old enough to smoke. Ironically, as with cigarettes, the minimum legal age for exterminating vampires was 18, which made Cyborg the only Titan that could both smoke and go to vampire-infested areas. That was pretty much the reason why he had been sent, of all the Titans. Not to say he wasn't qualified... "Stones and glass houses, 'Gus. How old are _you_?"

"Seventeen, but lets not get semantic. Were you looking for that psycho-killer before?" Argus floated over to the edge of the building like another Raven, like _he _could actually tell the difference between a living person and the living dead from up here.

"Actually, I was looking for vampires, because I have no other idea how I'm going to find her."

Argus turned and fixed the slits in his mask so Cyborg could feel the full brunt of the incredulity in his eyes. "You have to be joking. That's your master plan, _looking_ for vampires? And it's a she?"

"No, yes and yes." He answered quickly. "I'm not the master-plan kind of guy. You're looking for vampires too. Found any?"

"They are very good at hiding. I also have school in the daytime to take care of." Argus slumped into a chair of thin air and hung himself right over the edge of the roof. Showoff. "But people are depending on us, right? We can't just take a day off because we're busy with our other lives, so I haven't slept today except for in biology class."

Cyborg couldn't help but scoff mentally at weekend superhero's tired disposition. It was doubtful if he knew anything about superhero responsibilities. "Sounds like neither of us is making much progress."

"Hey, I've got an idea..."

Cyborg had a feeling he knew what was coming.

"Let's team up! You're looking for vampires so you can find that killer, and-"

"-By the way, Argus, I've never heard of you. Can I see your crimefighter and exterminator License?"

The red hockey mask was a completely normal one, probably one this newbie had swindled from his school's stash. Cyborg scanners could clearly tell that the other one went slack-jawed. "Uh, I don't have any." The invisible chair suddenly got rickety and Argus stood up on his legs again.

"Well, take a visit around the Justice League office in Washington some time before somebody decides to give you trouble for not following procedure. Oh, don't worry, it's not like I'm going to throw you in jail for doing something the Batman has done for years." He grinned, and Argus grinned in response, not trying to hide how relieved he was.

"Damn, you scared me there!"

"Jesus, I've been on team with the Boy Wonder for about three years now. Do you really think I would arrest you?"

"You looked like it!"

"Heheh, don't sweat it... I've got some more questions: How long have you been a metahuman?"

The masked superhero sat back down and relaxed. "Five years now. Discovered my latent telekinetic abilities while I was washing dishes. Dramatic, huh?"

Argus was a telekinetic. That wasn't something he needed to mention again. There was a sort of collective shame hanging over the telekinetically gifted like a raincloud, solely thanks to a psychopathic few who had performed practically untraceable contract hits. It had been pretty big in the newspapers for a while some years ago, and still made headlines that mostly inspired fear. The result was some serious social stigma, telekinetics having come to be portrayed as perfect killing machines, which, to a certain degree, they actually were: If he wanted to, Argus could kill Cyborg. On the other hand, Cyborg was a lot more of a machine and could just as easily tear Argus soft, human body apart.

"Cool," Cyborg said. "Any other powers?"

"Nothing else. Just moving stuff with my brains. Don't you have like five different superpowers?"

"Well, depending on your definition, I might have fifty. For example, I don't ever have to clip my fingernails," the half-robot joked. There was always a certain... tenseness between people who know just how utterly little it takes to kill each other.

"Wow... That's.. fantastic," Argus nodded with a hand propped under his chin. "Well, I don't ever have to get my hands dirty, so I can just let mine grow as I want to."

Cyborg hoped that he didn't, but continued his furtive interview. "How long have you been doing this superhero gig for free?"

That was another shocker for the uncertified superhero. "I can get money...? Man, I should have thought of all these things... Anyway, I only got the costume half a year ago. Haven't saved the world yet, mostly helping out where I can, like now."

"Ever killed a vampire before?"

Argus shut up and his pulse went upwards. "No."

"So, you've had no formal training, you have little experience and none with vampires, and you might choke when you find them." Cyborg crossed his arms and towered over the smaller teenager. "Dude, as much as I'm not going to arrest you, I can't let you do this. Just turn around and walk away. Get a license if you really want to do this."

"What... eh, what are you going to do to stop me?" Argus asked, not sounding very confident.

"I'm just going to ask you to not go vamp-hunting. And if I see you with a mask on again and no license, I will determine your identity and put you in the vigilante register. Some men will visit your house and ask some questions a little after I do that. Then it'll all be out of my hands. That's all."

"But, what about Cheshire?" He was grasping at straws now.

Cyborg wasn't looking interested in the least. "What about her?"

"Don't you want me to.. I mean.. I can help catch her!" A preposterous assertion if Cyborg had ever heard one. Cheshire wasn't undead, and therefore to be caught alive, which ruled out Argus one viable strategy against her. Not that he was going to remind the telekinetic of this.

The neotitanium man leaned down to Argus face, his expression as blank as the other's mask. "No you can't," he said, like it was a known fact. His voice darkened: "It's way out of the question. I've said this to everyone in town already, but I'm not sorry to repeat myself again and again if it can save even a single life: Stay the fuck away from Cheshire!"

* * *

Argus had flown away considerably faster than he had arrived. The professional superhero left alone on the factory climbed back down from his lookout to sit himself back in the T-car. A cup of coffee from the compact coffee maker later and he felt a little better about intimidating the young wannabe. He had done the right thing, but with this boy and what his scan had told him... it had just felt like punting a little puppy. With an armored foot. Cyborg didn't always follow every letter of the law, and he sometimes did things he wasn't proud of, but he always endeavored to do the right thing. All of the Titans did. Sometimes the philosophy involved drove him nuts.

When the Titans had first made a team, Batman's activities had been officially sanctioned for a long time and the Justice League had started its work a while ago with the full blessing of the government. All of the core League members were superheroes who had proven their competence beyond any doubt. They hadn't needed more approval than the 'yes' from the president. The Titans had Robin, whom Batman personally vouched for, which was enough for the League to vouch for Robin's ability to train the other teenagers adequately. Not that Starfire or Beast Boy hadn't already been trained almost as thoroughly as the Boy Wonder, but they had still been gobsmackingly lucky to get another presidential 'yes'. Of course they hadn't all realized at the time.

Nowadays a little more order was necessary to prevent a hundred goofballs with powers from running amok and fighting each other everywhere. For the most part the individual states were left to figure out how to deal with costumed vigilantism, but the League was also deeply involved with scouting for talents and providing as much training as was determined to be needed. As for Argus; he wasn't made of either steel or neotitanium and would be forced to go through a rigorous training regimen that John Stewart – Green Lantern and former marine – was in charge of.

The sun was doing its usual rise over the hills in the horizon and Cyborg decided it was time to check if his toys had seen anything interesting.

* * *

The finest hotel in city – Hotel Kiloton – was an expensive and pompous affair, especially for such a small town, which gave Cyborg hope that this plan might actually pay off. In four places surrounding the yellow, five-story, roman-style construction, Cyborg had placed small camera concealed as bricks, and he had done it in the holographic guise of a white Victor Stone: New arrivals – especially the sort that likes luxury and sleeping in comfy beds – were either going to have to buy some real estate or check right here. Not taking any chances, he had also placed cameras monitoring the three other hotels/motels in and surrounding the town.

The chance to catch a professional like Cheshire this easily was actually banal. The bald, white dude in muscle shirt and baggy pants told himself so while he nonchalantly went by the hotel and uploaded all four bricks' data as he did. There hadn't been much activity during the night, only a few costumers checking in before the sun set and almost nothing after that. Then there was some going out again around the 6,39 mark, and... He almost came to a stop, but remembered that he was a guy on a walk.

He brought the data to his left eye and checked the picture, analyzed it and mulled the chances over in his head.

Cyborg programmed the T-car to drive to a street a little away and sent a single, prerecorded message to Titans' tower.

Five minutes later, Cyborg walked into the lobby, still in his Caucasian Victor Stone persona and with an oxygen tank over his shoulder, not exactly exuding the air of someone with the money to rent a suite or the intention for that matter.

"Can I help you, sir?" the female receptionist asked politely. Her graying, hazel hair was kept in a bun and her black-and-white dress had a name tag that read 'Penelope Simmons'.

"Yes you can." He walked to the reception desk where he could see her hands. "I'm looking for a young Asian girl of very slender build, has long flowing hair the color of ink. She moves with feline grace, has plenty of cash and carries a small suitcase. Have you seen her? I need know which room she's staying in."

Penelope smiled lightly. "Do you have an appointment with one of our guests?"

"Yes I do in fact." Cyborg flashed a big, broad, toothy smile before deactivating his hologram generator. "But dang if I know her name. I did see that she vent in here at 6:32 this morning. I've put up cameras, you see."

To see a semi-celebrity, superhero and tonne of metal suddenly appearing in her workplace had about the same effect as a concussion to the receptionist. She blinked a few times before picking up her shattered cool from the floor. "... suite 57..."

"Thank you." The superhero took the heavy container off his shoulder and put a hand on the valve. "You may want to sit down, Pen'."

She nodded wordlessly and hid behind her desk. Then Cyborg turned the valve and flooded the room with knock-out gas and walked past the border-line comatose woman and up the stairs.

As he slowly climbed the steps to the fifth floor, the invisible cloud of gas followed him like a tail, expanded and slipped into the ventilation system. If it was in Hotel Kiloton, then it was going to sleep, and it wasn't going to wake up for at least half a day. His sonic analyzers could already tell that a few others on the ground floor had not been sitting or lying when the gas took effect, and the sounds from the kitchen sounded especially painful. There was no room for taking chances however, and he wasn't worried about lawsuits. As long as he did his job well, the League had a team of _very _competent lawyers to manage legal affairs – almost _unnaturally _competent lawyers. Even if he screwed up, the League liked to deal with internal problems in their own way and on their own terms.

He was on the second floor. The gas should have dispersed into every single room now.

Being a cyborg whose only muscles left where all in his face, Cyborg didn't really need more oxygen than what his brain demanded and could thus hold his breath for over ten minutes. Of course, he only had one artificial lung left, but the other was replaced with a rebreather that let him keep his breath for another one-and-a-half hours. Partly to prevent himself from unconsciously taking a small whiff through his nose, Cyborg issued a mental command to his robotic body. Immediately, a number of tailored plates slid over his skin and formed a mask that hid that last traces of his humanity. It was compartment technology at its finest and made in the same design as the rest of him, making him bullet-proof all over and protected him from any unpleasant surprises there might be waiting for him in suite 57.

When the stairs ended, Cyborg was looking down a long hallway. Clean, red carpet. White walls with abstract paintings. He carefully lowered himself to hands and knees on the floor and willed four small wheels our of his knees and elbows. Silently, without even a creaking, he rolled down the hallway. This could have never been done if his target had found a hotel with floors that weren't built as if designed for work with heavy machinery. Silently, he thanked her.

The door with the corresponding number was now before him. White, fireproof and clearly marked with golden numbers. Cyborg put the tank with still spilling gas on the floor, next to where he crouched beside door. Not in front of the door, which might blow up at any moment.

He extracted a small laser from one of his fingers and slowly burned a hole in the door. Then stuck a wire with with an even smaller camera through the hole.

Nothing to report. Everything looking normal inside the suite.

Though the equipment to unlock the door was inside his fingertips, Cyborg never had been very good at stealth. Actually, he was the absolute worst on the team for this, and there was no way he could even open the door without alerting the assassin inside, not to mention pick the lock.

So, within three seconds, the door was reduced to flying splinters and Cyborg had gone in a straight line through the wall between him and the master bedroom, both arms glowing and crackling with destructive energy, mask on his face making him look like robotic psychopath.

God he hoped this girl really was Cheshire.

-

No, Cyborg does not canonically have loudspeakers built into himself, but he totally should have. No, he is never shown to have Rollerblades in his knees and elbows, but a Rollerblade/skateboard chase would be _so _cool. No, he – probably – doesn't have a rebreather instead of one of his lungs, but it makes sense. And no, the closest thing we come to a mask to protect Cyborg's vulnerable human mug is that scope that he put on his robo-eye in The End part 1. Again, it makes sense.


End file.
